Lazy Days and Coffee
by Avexl
Summary: Fallen!Cas has a lot of trouble getting out of bed in the morning, and Dean gives him an incentive. Destiel.


**AN: This was inspired by this wonderful fan art I saw on Tumblr [gdayidjits(add dot)tumblr(add dot)com/post/59860489533/so-cas-miiiiiiiight-be-ad dicted-to-coffee] and I just had to write domestic!Destiel from it**.

* * *

It's become a routine.

Cas wakes up at a perfectly reasonable hour, usually between 8 or 9 o'clock in the morning, and he remains curled up in his sheet for hours. He loves feeling the comfort of his sheets on his skin. Since losing his grace, physical sensations feel different in a myriad ways he can't quite explain to Sam or Dean—how it's both more and less. Pain is greater—a paper cut feels as bad as someone driving an angel blade through his old self—yet he finds his pain threshold has increased drastically. It's how he feels with all emotions, sensations, and the only one that he truly enjoys having this new capacity for physical awareness is with comfort. He could never tire of the way that his pillows hold his head, or the way his mattress manages to support his back and limbs and keep him relaxed.

And so he lies there, for hours if he's left to it. When they're out on the hunt or have something pressing to do, he doesn't get that indulgence. Sam will come in and tell Cas in as polite a way as he can to get out of bed. Or Dean will come in screaming, "GET THE FUCK UP." Both are effective.

It's on their days off that this routine arises. When Cas isn't required for anything and they spend their lazy days pottering around the bunker, he stays there. Right into the afternoon. Cas doesn't see a point in getting up.

Dean, on the other hand, is indignant over his friend's lazy behaviour and does everything in his power to drag his arse out of bed. And he figures that the best way to do that is coffee.

As an angel, Cas never had to develop the sense of self control that is a necessity now. When Famine made Jimmy's body—although he'd vacated by that point—crave red meat, Cas consumed all the burgers he could get his hands on. Because they made him _happy_. And it didn't matter that the consumed enumerated into the hundreds, because he was an angel and he could withstand the digestive assault.

Cas discovered that he had a taste for coffee a few weeks after he'd been dragged back to the bunker by Dean. He also discovered that he had zero self control. The first thing Sam did to him after pulling him in for a deep hug was force a black coffee under his nose and told him to drink, and that he needed it.

Cas didn't like it.

And the Winchester boys drank it every morning and made him one, too. And Cas was so troubled by his belief that he was a burden that it took him weeks before he could manage to tell Dean he didn't like it.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Dean responded simply, much to Cas's surprise.

"I—I'm thankful for my place here. I didn't want to offend you by telling you I didn't like the beverage you go to the trouble of making for me every morning," Cas mumbled embarrassed.

Dean huffed out a sigh and rubbed his hand down his face. "Just tell me your likes and your dislikes with this stuff. I know taste is a sense that's all fucked up and weird for you since you fell. It's not a big deal. But _coffee_, man? What's wrong with it?"

Cas paused thoughtfully looking to find the words. "It's too…bitter."

"Well, you could try putting other crap in it like a little bitch like Sammy does. Milk. Creamer. Sugar. Whatever. Or just don't drink the damn stuff unless you need a pick-me-up then, Cas," Dean suggested.

And that was how Cas was introduced to putting sugar in his coffee.

Dean and Sam found him at the back of the library 36 hours later, still yet to sleep, eyes bloodshot and wired, surrounded by roughly half the volumes in the room.

"He's not allowed to drink it again," Sam said flatly. "It's not good for him."

Cas looked upset but his physical tiredness and his bizarre too awake brain couldn't bring him to say anything in protest.

"Sammy, c'mon, that's harsh. He just hasn't found self control yet. He just needs to learn, is all. I'll watch him with caffeine and ration how much he can drink. That alright?"

"Thank you, Dean," croaked a very tired Cas.

**xxx**

That is how Dean comes to be established as the only person who is allowed to give Cas coffee, and how they establish their routine on his idler days. Cas will lie in bed till lunch time; although Dean can deal with Cas missing his breakfasts, he's not about to let him miss his lunches, too. So just before he's about to serve whatever the hell he's had the urge to make—anything from sandwiches to pie to elaborate pasta dishes he's trialing to make for dinner some other time—he pops up to Cas's room where he's all curled up, eyes closed, in his bed.

"Cas, it's 1pm! Wake up!" he says in a gruff, rise 'n' shine voice. He has no idea that Cas is already awake when he does this.

The blanket-burrito topped with dark brown messy hair grunts and grumbles out a "no." He isn't prepared to be separated from his bed just yet or quite so easily.

"Fine, I'll make you some coffee then," Dean says, like he wasn't already planning to make some for Cas anyway; like he doesn't do this all the time.

Cas sits up when the door swings shut behind Dean as he goes to fetch a coffee for his friend, and the former angel beams. He adores coffee. Loves everything about it. And he especially loves it when his friend brings it to him in bed.

By the time Dean returns, Cas is back to hiding his awakeness and pretending to be half conscious. "Drink up, Cas," he orders, and Cas complies, sitting up to take the warm mug from Dean's hands and leaning on his friend slightly. He looks a state this way: hair standing up on end on one side, completely flat on another, one dark-haired calf half out of his cover cocoon, and his usually carefully managed stubble looking thick and messy. "I made tomato soup, and I actually think this shit's good. I want to see you and Sammy's reaction," Dean smiles. Taking care of Sam and Cas like this is one of the things that makes Dean happy.

"I'm sure that it'll be wonderful." Cas cradles the coffee mug in his hands and hums appreciatively as he takes a sip. Just sweet enough for how he likes it.

"You sleep alright?" Dean worries about Cas a lot now he's fallen; not that he didn't before. Cas enjoys the feeling of Dean's concern whenever they get a quiet time alone and Dean offers to really talk to him.

"I slept well. I am very well. You don't have anything to worry about like that."

Dean grins widely at the answer. "Okay, so up-and-at-'em. I want you showered, dressed downstairs in ten minutes for my culinary masterpiece."

**xxx**

"Cas, you gotta get up."

He blinks from inside his duvet shelter at the book he was reading in there. Cas has been awake for a couple of hours, but it still felt far too early for a day off. "What time is it?" his dark baritone rumbles miserably. The bed next to him dips as Dean sits down.

"About 11. I need to head into town and get some supplies 'cos Sam's got a lead on a potential hunt, and you could do with some more suits for the whole FBI get-up since you're wearing yours all the time." Much to Cas's surprise, Dean is already holding out a freshly made cup of coffee. He sits up in his usual cover-wrap position, leaning against Dean. Nodding and rubbing his eyes, Cas takes the mug from Dean, their fingers grazing as the Winchester passes it over. "I'll give you 15 minutes to be ready. Don't have time too make you anything so we'll be heading to a drive-though or something, alright?"

Cas nods again solemnly—he's been looking forward to finishing the novel he was reading this morning, but their other plans are more pressing. "I understand," Cas sighs. It's one of those reactions that Cas seems to be doing more: sighing and moping. And it's a part of humanity that Dean hates seeing on Cas.

"You…how are you?" Dean regards his friend closely. "And be honest with me, Cas. No bullshit."

"I'm…" The word okay almost slips from his mouth instantly. Cas is learning that. He'd always taken questions so literally as an angel, but now he's learning about adjacency pairs and how people don't actually want to know. But Dean _does_. "I'm as well as can be expected." Cas ponders for a while, "I think I'm starting to be happy."

Dean nods once and exhales. "That's…that's good. It's really good. Finish that because we have to be out soon. If you ever…?" He lets the question drag.

"Okay. Thank you for the coffee," Cas says. The hunter smiles fondly; it's the first time that he's ever heard Cas tell him that he's thankful for making him coffee since Cas initially admitted he didn't like it.

"It's no problem." He gets up from the bed, putting his hand on Cas's shoulder, and gracefully leans down and kisses Cas on the cheek.

The action feels as routine as bringing him coffee, and like they'd done it a thousand times before. Dean doesn't even realise that he's done it, just sits up and leans over, and presses his lips to Cas's cheekbone. Their stubble prickles together, but not irritatingly. Dean pulls back a fraction and stays there, his breath caressing the former angel's cheek and breathes him in for a moment.

Dean still hasn't realised what he's done when he pulls back; not until he looks down and sees Cas with a shy smile on his face. It's then that awareness flashes through him in an instant.

He gulps, continuing gazing at Cas's warm expression and feels the evidence of his embarrassment creeping across his cheeks. "Yeah," he says, voice cracking on the word. Uncomfortably, Dean looks at Cas's face, half smiles and blushes fiercer still. "Just meet me in the impala in fifteen, okay?" And with that he marches out of the room, head down and eyes to the floor.

Cas, on the other hand, smiles until the door closes when he bursts into soft excited chuckling, clutching at the coffee mug beneath his chin, feeling the warmth radiating from the dark liquid and its aroma tickling his nose. Yes, he's starting to feel very happy indeed.


End file.
